through the bones. So the Buyer hunts up a young junky and gives him a paper to make it.“Oh all right,” the boy says. “So what you want to make?”“I just want to rub up against you and get fixed.”“Ugh . . . Well all right. . . . But why cancha just get physical like a human?”Later the boy is sitting in a Waldorf with two col­leagues dunking pound cake. “Most distasteful thing I ever stand still for,” he says. “Some way he make him­self all soft like a blob of jelly and surround me so nasty. Then he gets wet all over like with green slime. So I guess he come to some kinda awful climax. . . . I come near wigging with that green stuff all over me, and he stink like a old rotten canteloupe.”“Well it’s still an easy score.”The boy sighed resignedly; “Yes, I guesss you can get used to anything. Tve got a meet with him again tomorrow.”The Buyer’s habit keeps getting heavier. He needs a recharge every half hour. Sometimes he cruises the precincts and bribes the turnkey to let him in with a cell of junkies. It get to where no amount of contact will fix him. At this point he receives a summons from the District Supervisor:“Bradley, your conduct has given rise to rumors—and I hope for your sake they are no more than that—so unspeakably distasteful that . . . I mean Caesar’s wife . . . hrump . . . that is, the Department must be above suspicion . . . certainly above such suspicions as you have seemingly aroused. You are lowering the entire